


all i've got in my system is coffee and a deathwish

by meios



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16832839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meios/pseuds/meios
Summary: minghao looks like a cat. junhui has been drinking coffee since five in the morning. yeah, they're both kind of fucked.





	all i've got in my system is coffee and a deathwish

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written prose in a very, very long time.

The first thing that runs through Junhui’s head is: _this man looks like a cat_. The second is a resounding _wow_ running like an echo through his brain, because the politeness behind the smile matching with the coldness of his dark eyes is something that lends much to the imagination of dark rooms and warm touches, a kind of breathlessness that grasps his throat. He barely hears the order, only the name, Minghao, and he’s scrambling to get everything started despite the fact that there’s no line behind the man, no one else really in the shop, and Junhui briefly catches the flash of another amused smile blessing Minghao’s face.

He’s never been this flustered, if he’s being truthful, but this boy does something to him, always has: seen him around campus but never caught his name, only remembered the shape of his eyes and the slope of his nose, the way his lips curl a little when he talks as if he’s hiding a joke. Junhui recalls the way his body moves at parties, how he, himself, has never made a move, and maybe he’s a little tired and a lot stressed, and _maybe_ if Jeonghan could see him now, he’d never let him live this down, but he’s still mixing the milk and the coffee with decidedly steady hands, leaving the ghostly remnants of cinnamon and drawing a cat face into the foam.

Junhui is nothing if not artistic, and he’ll be damned if he can’t show it sometimes.

Minghao gives him a smile again, that smile, like he knows the punchline to a joke that hasn’t been spoken yet, looking up at Junhui through his fringe and telling him, “Cute. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” responds Junhui, a bit of color blossoming along his cheeks. He takes the proffered money from Minghao’s hand, deposits it into the cash register, hands him his change, and yet the other boy still does not move, only lifts the cup and blows along the rim slightly before taking a sip. He hums, satisfied.

“I’ve seen you around before,” says Minghao after a moment.

“Oh, yeah,” Junhui says, lame, “so have I.”

Minghao supplies, “Hanging out with Jeonghan.”

“You know him?”

Minghao nods.

“He never told me he knew you,” says Junhui, a little petulant. Internally annoyed, he makes a mental note to wring the older boy’s neck before the weekend is over. The asshole.

“Why? Have _you_ wanted to know me?” asks Minghao, and now that the smile is reaching his eyes, no longer just amused but now teasing, genuine, the warmth in his voice and on his face is ethereal, really, and Junhui is so fucked that he may as well self-combust now to save some time and he feels this sort of dread bubbling up from his stomach and it’s not just because he’s been drinking coffee since five AM this morning, no. When Junhui stammers a bit, Minghao laughs, soft and private, “What’s your name?”

Junhui tells him, family name and all.

“Well, Wen Junhui,” he begins, “what time do you get off today?”

“About an hour?” Why does that sound like a question? His heart’s in his throat, he must be getting pranked or something, how is his life like this, he’s going to _kill_ Jeonghan and maybe also _kiss_ him if the next words out of this boy who looks like a cat’s mouth are—

“You’re in luck. I’d like to know you, too.”

Minghao winks at him and if Junhui thought he was fucked before, he’s so beyond fucked that if one were to open the dictionary and find the definition for the word, in lieu of words there’d only be a picture of him, and when he turns to leave, Junhui finds himself asking him to wait.

Minghao, in his fashionable coat and his stylish fringe and his way-too-pretty-how-did-this-happen expression, looks at him, expectant, and Junhui deflates a little. “There’s no one here right now,” he says. “Why don’t you stay ’til my shift’s over?”

And when the words make their impression, sink into the confines of Minghao’s brains, the color on his face darkens a bit, and wow, okay, Junhui can live with this, there’s a quick movement, the sound of a stool scraping against the floor and Minghao is sitting at the counter, deposits his bag on the stool beside him. He holds his chin in his hand and there’s that smile again; Junhui chuckles a bit, leans forward a bit to be at the same eye level.

“I like the way you think,” says Minghao.


End file.
